Blind Reality

by Heidi McLaughlin

  When I get to the room that’s been assigned to Joey and I, all I find is Jason. He’s sitting there talking on his phone. He holds up his finger, telling me that he’ll be a minute. I start to pace in and out of the room, waiting for Joey to come back. She should be waiting in here with her parents, but there’s no sign of her or them. There’s not even an empty water bottle to show they’ve at least taken advantage of the craft services.

  “Josh,” Jason says from behind me. When I turn around he’s smiling and holding up some papers, causing my heart to stop and my throat to swell. I have a pretty decent idea of what’s in his hands. “It’s all taken care of.” He hands me the papers that effectively end my relationship with Joey whether I like it or not.

  I don’t want to look at the papers in my hands. I don’t even want to pretend that I know what they mean. I signed these ninety plus days ago, long before I knew Joey.

  “If you’re okay with them, I’ll file them tomorrow at the court house.” I want to ask him if they’re still valid since Joey and I had sex and the papers are for an annulment, but I don’t want to divulge that information to him right now.

  “I’ll file them. I have to go down there tomorrow anyway,” I tell him. I don’t have a clue where the courthouse is, but that doesn’t matter. I have no intention of filing them. “Do you know where Joey is? I need to talk to her.”

  Jason chuckles and I find myself imagining my fist hitting his face repeatedly. There’s nothing funny about this mess. I told Joey we’d try and see where things could go with us after the show was over. I made love to her. I planned to spend many days with her until she grew sick of me. We may have married with blindfolds on, but I knew from the moment I kissed her that she was something special.

  “She left with Bronx Taylor.”

  I nod, biting my lip to keep the barrage of curse words from coming out of my mouth. Most importantly, it’s keeping me from telling Jason he’s fired. Someone is going to pay for this. I take one last look at Jason and walk away with my annulment or divorce papers—I don’t even know what to call them—in my hand. I have no idea where her parents are staying or what they look like, but I know where I can find her, at least I hope so.

  If I have to spend the night begging Joey to give me a chance, I will. She needs to understand it was an unfortunate incident that my lawyer showed up, likely encouraged to be there by Jules and Matt. Even before I came on the show, I didn’t ask him to be at the finale, and for him to show up out of the blue pisses me off. I’m aware he’s under the impression that I wanted an annulment, but not before the press tour and I would’ve never done anything to embarrass Joey either.

  This is something Joey should have never experienced.

  My name is called from behind, but I ignore whoever it is. Producers, agents, and the media are waiting for interviews. They’re expected of me, but without my wife with me, I have nothing to say. Besides, how do I answer the question of where she is? I can’t and I don’t want to lie.

  I push the heavy gray door open and take a deep breath as soon as I step out. Even though we had access to the outside, the walls are no longer closing us in. The normal black Town Cars are lining the studio lot and each car has our names on the door. They want to parade us around while we drive the streets of Hollywood until we’re in front of the hotel. The show’s creators want the publicity, but I find this to be nothing more than a media circus.

  A quick glance at the cars tells me Bronx and Rebekah’s is missing. I’m going to tell myself that Rebekah is in the car and they’re giving Joey a ride because that is what nice people do. It doesn’t matter if Bronx and I hate each other; he’s being a nice guy.

  “Hello, Mr. Wilson.” The driver moves to open my door.

  “Can you tell me where you’re taking me?”

  “The Sunset Tower, sir,” he says much to my surprise. The show isn’t sparing any expense. They want us happy with luxurious accommodations before they send us traveling across the country.

  “My wife … do you happen to know if she’s there? We got separated.”

  “No, sir.”

  “Thanks.” I slide in and he shuts the door. In front of me, in the center console is a bottle of champagne chilling in ice with two flutes and a tray of strawberries. It’s the perfect celebratory dessert for a couple who should be starting their honeymoon, or making out in the back of the Town Car with its tinted windows. Except I’m back here by myself with my mind wondering what the fuck just happened. When I left her, I told her I’d be right back. What could Jason have said to her to make her believe that I wanted a divorce? I told her we’d try, and after everything that happened in the house, I’d like to think she’d believe me over some lawyer she just met.

  I guess I was wrong.

  The car pulls up to the sidewalk and the flash of lights start immediately. The paparazzi don’t care who is in the car, they’re snapping away so they don’t miss anything. I can’t get out of this car without Joey by my side. The headlines will be scandalous and more fuel for Jules. The last thing I need is for Jules to think she even has a chance.

  I push the lever to lower the privacy glass in between the driver and me. He looks at me through the rearview mirror, knowing something is wrong. “Excuse me, but is there a different place you could drop me off?”

  “Yes, sir. I could take you to the employee entrance or the loading dock.”

  “The loading dock will be perfect, thank you.” The employee entrance is ideal, but a keycard is likely needed, or someone would need to open the door and I’d really like to enter the building with as little fanfare as possible. Although, I do need to stop at the front desk and get a key since my wife has decided to race me to the hotel.

  Non-authorized vehicles aren’t allowed in the loading dock area, but this driver doesn’t care. I get the feeling that he’s done this a time or two by the way he’s speeding through the gate. As soon as he stops, I throw the door open, offer him a quick thanks, and get out. He’s gone before I can even shut the door, tearing out of the parking lot like a bat out of hell.

  There’s a man sitting on the dock, smoking. I wave and act as nonchalantly as possible as I climb the steps. I need to make it seem like I’ve done this hundreds of times. I’m also willing to bet I’m not the only actor to come in through this door either. It seems like the perfect way to hide from the media.

  “Hope she’s worth it,” he says, stubbing out his cigarette.

  “She is.” He doesn’t need to know I’m going to meet my wife just that she’s worth it. She’s worth the heartache and anxiousness I’m feeling right now, too.

  The loading dock leads through the kitchen. I wave as I walk by even though I’m met with odd stares. As long as I stay away from the guys with knives I should be okay. When I enter the dining area, the clank of silverware against china is noticeable. There are a few gasps and cell phones are being reached for. I’m on a mission, though, and time is of the essence so stopping and posing for pictures aren’t an option.

  I reach the front desk and give the clerk my name. He smiles, presses the keys on his keyboard, and hands me a card with a packet, which I can only assume is the information for the press tour … at least I hope it is because I haven’t got a clue about what’s going on tomorrow. My room number is written on a sticky note to keep my privacy intact.

  The elevator ride is painstakingly slow and I feel like when we reach each floor, the car pauses for effect. I know it’s not the case, but I’m in a hurry and want to start damage control. I breathe a sigh of relief when my floor illuminates and the doors slide open. The moment I step out into the hallway, my heart beats faster and my palms sweat. I don’t know if it’s from the anticipation of seeing her, and knowing the cameras are gone, or if it’s from fear that a lamp will be thrown at my head once the door opens. Either way, I’m willing to find out.

  Sliding the keycard in, I wait for the telltale sign of a click before pushing the handle down. I step into the room; it’
s a small suite, but still luxurious. Even from standing at the door I can tell we have a nice view, but it’ll be all for naught if she’s not speaking to me.

  “Joey,” I call out as I walk through the room. Nothing is out of place and it looks like she isn’t even here. When I step into the bedroom, my suitcase sits next to the bed, but the other side is empty, leaving me confused. I should call Bronx and ask him, but that would require me to call my agent or Jules to get his number and neither is going to happen right now.

  I move around the room and can tell she’s been here since the side of the bed where her luggage should be has been sat on. Walking into the bathroom, I flick the light and find a note taped to the mirror.

  I’ll be staying with my parents

  No signed name. No phone number on how to reach her. No hotel information. I’ve got nothing until tomorrow when we meet with producers to get our schedule.

  When I look in the mirror, I expect to see a different woman, one that is married to her celebrity crush. Instead, I see a woman who has been through hell and hasn’t quite made it back. Joshua had given me hope, but that hope quickly turned to fear in the blink of an eye. I’m back to being the woman who got lucky enough to land a heartthrob, yet couldn’t keep him.

  Riding to the hotel with Bronx would’ve been awkward if Rebekah hadn’t been in the car. The problem is, I felt like a third wheel. And not just any type of third wheel—the kind that gets dumped on a double date and has to go home with her girlfriend and her date. The Town Car was ready for a couple and I felt like an invader.

  When the car reached the hotel, there were so many paparazzi waiting and they immediately started taking pictures and it scared me. Bronx was nice enough to ask the driver to drive around to the side and drop me off. He said there’d be a less likely chance that I’d be recognized without Josh holding my hand. I smiled softly, but on the inside I was breaking down. He’ll never know how hurtful his words were even though he was protecting me.

  In little under an hour I have to see Josh. I have to sit next to him and figure out a way not to be cornered by him. Yesterday, I was able to convince the producers that Josh and I were going to have a real ceremony and we decided that we’d sleep in separate rooms until then. They came up with the idea of keeping us separate until the final press tour stop, surprising even me with that one. That was the easy part. I would have thought that they’d want to keep us together and monopolize on the ‘celeb finds true love on the show’ angle. The hard part was actually leaving the beautiful room that was meant for me. The room they’ve now given me isn’t nearly as nice, but it’s time away from Josh and I need that right now.

  I apply my make-up in slow strokes, making sure that the bags under my eyes are covered sufficiently. Sleep did not come for me last night. Josh was on my mind, and I was curious if he had even come to the hotel, and if he did, did he bring Jules with him once he realized I was gone? As hard as I tried to think that he wouldn’t do something like that, every time I’d close my eyes, her face popped into my thoughts, keeping me wide awake.

  I stand back and look at myself in the mirror. I’ve lost weight. I need to eat a damn steak or something to put some meat on my bones. I’m thankful this press tour is over in two weeks so I can get on with my life. I don’t know what I’m going to do, but moving is an option. I need to go where people don’t know me and I can blend in. Small town living isn’t going to cut it because I don’t want people to feel sorry for me. No one needs to feel sorry for me because for ninety-days I was Mrs. Joshua Wilson.

  The conference room we’re meeting in is small. There are large packets sitting on the tables, each with our names typed on them. I sit down and open mine, dropping my plane tickets, hotel reservations, and car information all over the table. As I look through, I see that I’m going to New York and doing all the major morning shows and New York night talk shows. My fangirl moments are all going to be met in this year.

  I try not to look when the chair next to me is pulled out. I also tell myself to stop breathing because a freshly showered Josh with cologne is to die for. He leans in and I scoot to the side.

  “We need to talk.”

  Worst. Line. Ever.

  Who the hell taught these men to open with this line? There’s no “we” in this equation. He’s going to say some shit and I’m not going to have a say in anything. This is a one sided divorce and I don’t have a leg to stand on.

  “Good morning. First let me start off by saying thank you for another successful season of Married Blind. The ratings were through the roof and we have you to thank for that.”

  The man at podium acts as if we’re supposed to know who he is, and maybe everyone does except for me. He continues to talk about ratings and some logistics that have me zoning out. I’m eager to get on with the press tour and lie my ass off about how great the show is. I know there will be questions about Josh, but I just spent the past three months on a reality show, I’m sure I can make something up.

  “As you can see, Gary and Amanda have opted not to join us. In fact, they filed annulment papers last night after the show. That information will be made public at a later date. Please do not answer any questions about them, aside from ‘they’re great’. Gary and Amanda are free to give their own press releases when the time is right for them.

  “Everything you need is in the packet in front of you. You’ll be traveling with a personal assistant. This person will be your best friend, right-hand man, or whatever else you want to call them. They have my contact information if needed. They’ll also make sure you’re on time for all your interviews. If you need anything tell your PA, it’s their job to make this as easy as possible for you. We’ll see you in two weeks for the season premiere of the Helen show.”

  The moment he’s out of the room, everyone opens their packets and empties the contents onto the table. I know we’re all heading to the same places, just on different days so the chances that I’ll see any of them are slim and that’s how I want it. The only person I’m willing to travel with is Bronx. I know him, he knows me and he knows the situation with Josh. Bronx won’t ask questions or make me feel like I’m less of a human because of what happened. I don’t even have a problem with Rebekah. I’d probably welcome the friendship.

  Josh snatches my packet off the table and walks out of the room. I have no choice but to follow. He storms down the hall like a petulant child, ignoring my footfalls behind him. I get the bright idea of kicking his foot with this next step but think differently when I see people walking toward us. As they pass, they whisper his name, unsure if it’s actually him or just a lookalike. I could scream his name and have them return for autographs and pictures, giving me a chance to steal my packet back, but I don’t.

  I follow him into another conference room. It’s larger than the other, giving him more room to pace. He’s like an old man with the packets tucked up under his arm and his fingers massaging his temples.

  “I need my packet. My flight leaves soon.”

  He looks at me as if I’ve said something in another language. “What flight? I’m sure we’re doing the media circuit here.”

  I slowly shake my head and pull my information out from under his arm. “I’m not. I’m heading to New York. You’re staying here.”

  “What are you talking about?” He looks confused and rightly so.

  “The producers needed to separate a few of us because of Amanda and Gary, and I volunteered.”

  “Joey, we need—”

  I don’t give him a chance to respond before I’m walking out the door and back down the hall. When I hear the door bust open, I quickly step into an alcove and wait, praying that he walks the other way. He calls my name, but his voice is distant, assuring me I’m in the clear.

  When I get to my room, my personal assistant is sitting in the chair typing away on her phone. She looks up and smiles before pocketing her phone.

  “Hi, I’m Lou,” she says as she stands to shake my hand. She’s average
height with long black hair pulled tight into a ponytail. “I took the liberty of packing your suitcase and the car is ready for us.”

  “Great … oh by the way, I’m Joey.”

  “Is that short for anything? My name is Louise, but I don’t look like a Louise, so I’m Lou.”

  I like her already. “It’s long for Joe,” I say with a smile. She laughs at my joke, making her my best friend without even trying.

  Lou grabs my suitcase and hers and figures out a way to get out the door without any help. “I can carry my bag,” I tell her, which really isn’t carrying, but pulling behind me.

  “No worries, I’ve got it.”

  I shrug and follow her to the elevator, praying that Josh isn’t on it, or waiting in the lobby for me. I shouldn’t have told him that my flight was leaving soon, but it was the only way to get him to ease up on the death grip he was holding.

  When we get to the lobby, she rushes us right out. Even if Josh was waiting, I don’t think he would’ve seen me. Lou is barking orders at the driver as soon as we reach the car. She talks a mile a minute, but the driver seems to understand and wastes no time taking care of our luggage and getting us on the road.

  When I flew into Los Angeles, I never looked at the sights. I didn’t want to be here and now that we’re driving along the freeway, I think I want to visit. I’d love to take in all that Hollywood has to offer and do a tour to see where Hugh Hefner lives and catch a show at the Hollywood Bowl. I suppose if Josh and I would’ve won, I’d be able to do just that. Maybe LA is where I need to move to. It’s big enough that I’d get lost, but I’d need a guarantee that I’d never see Josh and I don’t know if anyone can say that.

  Celebrity status is something to relish. Instead of waiting in the terminal with the other travelers, we get to wait in the lounge. I immediately spot a few actors and quickly hide my inner fan-girl. I don’t want to embarrass Lou by jumping up and down. Sightings like this shouldn’t even bother me considering I’m friends with Bronx. He’s famous, and hell, as far as everyone knows I’m married to Joshua Wilson. Maybe that’s why I’m in this room … I’m an actor’s wife. Might as well run with it while I can.